Spivvins and the Rabbit
by Rose and Psyche
Summary: Many people have written about Spivvins...even more have written about The Rabbit, yet very few know of the little documented tale of Spivvins and the Rabbit. This is the story of how Eustace does something Rather Glorious, and lives to tell about It.
1. Spivvins Tells a Secret

Spivvins Tells a Secret

* * *

.Autumn Term, 1941.

 _"Pole!" he said, "Is that fair? Have I been doing anything of the sort this term? Didn't I stand up to Carter about the rabbit? And didn't I keep the secret about Spivvins—under torture too? And didn't I-"_

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

There are certain schools that make you _want_ to catch the plague…cholera, malaria, yellow fever…anything to postpone arrival one day. Eustace Scrubb was known to hang around outside the Radcliffe Infirmary in hopes that some fumes from the sick ward would settle on him and infect him with mumps. Eleanor Blakiston held sick-parties in hopes that _somebody_ was secretly infected with the African sleeping sickness and would pass it on. Somehow, it never worked and the Experiment House got its students on time, every term.

The only student who ever managed to catch the plague was Cuthbert Isambard Spivvens (who beat out Eustace Clarence Scrubb for the strangest name in the annals of the school); despite missing large portions of the term on account of being stricken with things like chicken pox, measles and influenza, he never seemed to be behind. The truth was, Spivvens was a genius. Scrubb, who wasn't a genius, was inclined to believe that Spivvens was the only decent chap at school. Spivs didn't notice things…he shuffled through life admiring insects and muttering Latin verbs under his breath. To Scrubb, who had once collected insects himself, it meant something. Spivvens actually _knew_ about them, while Scrubb, despite all his time preserving things in formaldehyde, didn't.

In fact, Spivvens was so odd and so harmless that even They left him alone. They were Them…the school Gang…and They were always on the hunt for someone they could torture. Scrubb knew very well that They could skewer Spivvens on a pin and mount him on a specimen card if They wanted.

"Look here, Pole," Scrubb said one morning, overtaking a skinny, long-legged girl in the corridor between Morning Meditations and Chinese literature class. "Look here, we've got to do something about Spivs."

Jill Pole turned to look at him. She carried her chin out in front of her like a small battering ram. You had to when They were around. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Scrubb trailed off. "What if They take a set against him? What on earth could he do?"

Pole stared at him, as well she might. "Why would _you_ care?"

It was true…up until this term, Srubb had been one of the worst hangers-on and floor-sweepers They had. He was their errand boy, their spy. Nobody trusted Scrubb…especially not when he began to be decent this term. Everyone who wasn't one of Them, suspected a Plot.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Scrubb," Pole said. "And I don't care. Just leave us alone…and that includes Spivs."

"Here, I _say!_ " Scrubb began angrily, but Pole had already turned in at the door and was gone.

Scrubb was left with the helpless feeling of one who has had his good intentions pushed back at him unopened. After the first flare of anger, he didn't blame Pole. It wasn't her fault. He _had_ been something of a rotter last term and he couldn't expect her to believe that he had transformed overnight. In fact, he had. It had happened during the holidays when he went on an Adventure with his cousins, the Pevensies, that was so strange and extraordinary you wouldn't believe me if I told you. All I mean to say is, Eustace Clarence Scrubb had Changed. He was not quite so fine a boy as he thought he was, but he was rather better than he ever had been before.

Scrubb was wandering past the cricket ground when he saw Spivvens. They were both too small to even be considered for the Eleven, but all the younger boys liked to watch the games. Alfred Carter was the captain of the team and by far the biggest and beefiest of the boys at school; he was the one who chose the players…and if anyone asked, he was the leader of Them; Adela Pennyfather might have disagreed, but she was the only one.

"Hullo, Scrubb." Spivvins goggled at him. Spivvens always goggled; the effect of his eyes seeming ready to burst out of his small head was further magnified by his spectacles.

"Hullo, Spivs," Scrubb said dismally.

"I saw a bird…you won't believe this, but I'm dead sure it's an Alpine Swift," Spivvins never noticed if people were dismal or not. He was never dismal and that was enough for him.

"What?"

"They aren't supposed to migrate this far north," Spivvins continued, not hearing him. "But I'm dead sure it's an Alpine Swift."

"It must be a Common Swift."

"This one has a white breast; Common Swifts are grey. It's built its nest in the eves of the Gym; come see it." Spivvins started off with the deliberate certainty that Scrubb was following.

Scrubb trailed along behind, his hands deep in his pockets. His sole consolation was being able to write to his cousins…the ones he'd gone Adventuring with during the summer hols. Lucy could always be counted on to write back and sometimes even Edmund broke his silence and sent him a note. His last one had been encouraging and depressing all at the same time:

 _"Don't expect them to see you've changed overnight. I know when you've Changed you want to share it with people; most specifically, you want an Audience. However, you're not Being Different to impress or gratify Them, or Yourself…even if nobody ever Notices that you've Changed, it will still have been well worth doing."_

Lucy could be counted on being uplifting and he read her letter a bit later:

 _"It's going to be awfully different now, Eustace, and I'm afraid you're going to be lonely…but you won't be nearly as lonely as you were when you were like Them. Remember all our friends in the Other Place, Caspian, Reepicheep, Drinian and the rest;_ they _knew your worth and you knew theirs. Those are the opinions that matter."_

"There it is," Spivvins was pointing at the eves of the Gym where a lump of dried grass seemed to be stuck to a shadow on the wall. "That's the nest. I wonder why they are here? It fearfully late in the year to be building nests. I expect it's because of the war. Bombs were going off and tanks rumbling through and the bird said to his wife, 'We ought to fly away to England. I hear it's green and tranquil there.' And she said, 'what a long flight it will be, going all that way, with no friends to keep us and only strangers when we arrive.' And he replied, 'it will be worth it in the end, my dear.' I suspect that's exactly what happened."

"If they had any brains, they wouldn't have chosen the Moor…they would have settled somewhere with trees."

"I hear the Coast is all barbed wire, land mines and 'off limit' signs," Spivvin's said with a rare spark of practicality. "I expect they passed it by for here."

Spivvins turned to goggle earnestly at Scrubb and Scrubb stared back.

"Do you think birds can talk, Spivs?" Scrubb asked suddenly.

Spivvins blushed hotly, "They talk more sense than most people do, I think. They're rather wonderful, really."

Scrubb agreed and hoped for Spivvin's sake that they really were Alpine Swifts and that they really had decided to leave war-torn Europe and come all the way to England because it was a green and pleasant land.

It was because of the War that Scrubb had changed. If it hadn't been for rationing, Lucy and Edmund would never have come to stay over the holidays while their parents went to America; rations for one person didn't go very far, but something could be done if rations were combined. It was because of some sort of cutting-edge medical break-through that Doctor Pevensie had gone Stateside and of course Mrs Pevensie went, and Susan, to keep them organized. Peter was in the RAF and the only place left for Lucy and Edmund to come to was the Scrubb's pile, to live with their awful Uncle Harold and horrible Aunt Alberta and of course their cousin, Eustace.

 _"It was tough luck,"_ Edmund had said. _"But it turned out all right, thank goodness."_

"Scrubb? Can you keep a secret?"

Scrubb started, realizing that he had fallen into a reverie again. "Yes of course, old chap; what is it?"

"Come see."

Scrubb came. There was a damp sort of walkway behind the gym with shrubbery on one side and the brick wall of the gym on the other. _They_ didn't like it because it was damp and dark and had spiders' webs. Consequently, everyone else used it as a sort of safe-haven from Them. Spivvens led the way some distance down it before pulling a large wicker hamper out from under the laurels.

"I say, what's that?" Scubb exclaimed with a feeling of premonition. Something was moving inside of it, something small, fluffy, with drop-ears and white toes and a nose that was wiggling frantically. It was a Rabbit.

"You know the man who owns the land adjoining the cricket field?" Spivvins asked, lifting the Rabbit out of the hamper. "He raises them for the war effort. He let me have this one because he says it's too small and old for really good eating."

"Great Scott!" Scrubb said with feeling.

"You won't tell?"

"Of _course_ not. I'm not a perfect beast."

"I didn't think you were…you know…I might be mistaken…you see; I've forgotten what you were like before…but aren't you rather _different_? I don't remember you being around much last term and now, you know, old chap, you are really _quite_ good at birds."

For Spivvins, that was high praise.

"Thanks awfully, old man," Scrubb found that there was a peculiarly sized lump in his throat. Spivvins never noticed anything that didn't have a spider at the center of it…but, Spivvins had noticed that he had changed. And Spivvins' opinion _mattered._ Perhaps there was hope after all.

"Look here," Scrubb pronounced, "It would be rather awful if They found it. How do you feed it?"

"Bits and bobs from the garden," Spivvins said uncomfortably. "I say, it's a small Rabbit, but it does eat an awful lot."

Like many schools around the country, the second cricket field had been plowed under to plant a Victory garden. Only Victory wasn't looked well upon by the Experiment House; everyone knew that the Head had written a letter to Hitler at the beginning of the war encouraging him to consider the lot of the Common Man. Nothing had come of it; Hitler had invaded Poland anyway, grinding the Common Man under his tank treads on the way. Winston Churchill, the present Prime Minister of England, seemed to be under the impression that the Common Man ought to take up arms and throw Hitler out, but the Head still maintained that a peaceful end could be negotiated. She had begun writing letters to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, urging him to negotiate between the two sides. That idea of hers had been brutally slaughtered when America entered the war.

By then, there were no countries left to write to. They were all involved somehow or other and the Head was forced to accept that they were going to slug it out. At the Experiment House, the word 'Victory', however, was verboten. Nobody was allowed to mention Winston Churchill, either. Not that anyone would; Adela Pennyfather's brother was a Conscientious Objector doing manual labor in Yorkshire. The very idea of Adela Pennyfather's glossy older brother doing manual labor was enough to brighten even Scrubb's most doleful days.

"Look here-" Scrubb began again, but was cut off short by the sound of footsteps on the gravel. He and Spivvins looked around like suspected burglars; Spivvins appeared to be holding the loot, Scrubb made a surprisingly good representation of a thug planning a get-away.

"We'll sell our lives dearly," Scrubb whispered half to himself, clenching his hands.

But it was only Jill Pole, all knees, elbows and short brown hair. She jumped when she saw them, mouth open. Scrubb recovered himself first. "Gosh, but you gave us a turn."

"What are you doing hiding in the shrubbery?" Pole asked accusingly. They had given her quite a scare and her voice was shrill. Her stubborn chin jutted a little further.

"Nothing to bother _you,_ I should think," Scrubb said unkindly, then caught himself. In quite another voice, he added: "Sorry if we startled you."

"Is that a Rabbit?" Pole asked, forgetting all at once that she _had_ been startled. "Where did it come from?"

Spivvins told the story once more, and before he finished, he found that Pole was holding the Rabbit. He shook his head; to him, girls were more mysterious than birds and much more unpredictable.

"We mustn't breathe a word of it to anyone," Scrubb said warningly. "If the Head found out, there would be a most frightful row…and I wouldn't really like to know what They would do if They discovered it. You _will_ keep it a secret?"

"Teach your grandmother," Pole replied stiffly. She wanted to crush Scrubb in one word, but couldn't think of one. "See that _you_ don't let it slip to Carter, yourself."

"Well I like _that_! What absolute _rot!_ " Scrubb cried. "Do I _look_ like I'm about to rush off and gas to Carter?"

Pole stamped her foot, "You _needn't_ make such an _appalling fuss_ about it, at _any_ rate!"

"Look here," Spivvins said quickly, taking back the Rabbit. "Look here, let's not all row. The Swifts are nesting just around the corner and we mustn't disturb them…and I think…I really do think they're Alpine Swifts."

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

PS: I was going to 'put off' posting this until 'later', and then I thought, "why? why put it off until later? What good will that do?"

Unfortunately, 'later' has become a hallmark of my life. Many of you who have been following Rose and me since 2011 will know that I was once a girl who wrote exuberantly about skiing and horseback riding. Since then, you've might know that I've developed an undiagnosed and insidiously progressive neuromuscular disorder which makes it difficult for me to perform day-to-day activities such as walking, swallowing, and speaking clearly. On good days most people can't tell there's anything wrong with me...on bad days, I'm stuck in bed, almost unable to move. Fear? been there. Pain and suffering? done that. Despair and loneliness? experienced that, too. Books like C. S. Lewis' 'The Problem of Pain' and Corrie Ten Boom's 'The Hiding Place' mean more to me than ever before.

Rose, meanwhile, suffers with extreme and unremitting migraine headaches while still trying to get a PhD in a alien city (that sounds so dramatic!). Her advisor moved, which meant she had to move, too, as well as adding a couple years onto her schooling because of the change of college. When she's done, she's going to have a degree from each level of college learning. Maybe I can borrow one?

I hope everybody hasn't forgotten who 'Rose and Psyche' are. :) We rather hope that you remember (with fondness) some of our previous attempts to amuse you, like 'What Fools These Mortals Be' and 'The Fish With the Golden Scales'. This story is also light-hearted, but I hope it is meaningful as well.

I know many people have written about Spivvins...and some other people have written about The Rabbit, but I'm not sure if anyone has ever written about Spivvins _and_ the Rabbit. If you have, well, hurrah for you! If you haven't, here it is! I was reading some of Wodehouse's school stories the year before last and this just sort of…hopped…into being.

All the best,

~Psyche (and Rose)

PS: Now let's see if I've forgotten how to post a story, which is more than likely...


	2. A Look at the Experiment House

A Look at the Experiment House

* * *

 _After that, the Head's friends saw that the Head was no use as a Head, so they got her made an Inspector to interfere with other Heads. And when they found she wasn't much good even at that, they got her into Parliament where she lived happily ever after._

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

Contrary to Spivvins' good advice, Pole and Scrubb continued to argue after they came out of the shrubbery and started towards the cricket ground. It wasn't until Carter came up suddenly behind them and knocked their heads together that they stopped.

"Little brats," Carter said on the side to Adela Pennyfather. "Absolutely no discipline. The masters are all sops."

"I know," Adela said, her voice strangely soft. "We have a terrific job on our hands trying to keep them all in line."

"I could write a sonnet to your eyes," Carter commented, going off on a tangent; that was the last thing Spivvins, Scrub and Pole heard from them. The team had finished practicing and were packing up their bats, looking very grand and grown-up in white flannels, and all together, the upperclassmen sauntered off. They owned the place.

"There's only one good thing about Carter," Scrubb said, rubbing the side of his head as he watched them go.

"You can come up with something, can you?" Pole asked dryly.

"He's in sixth form. He'll pass out of the school at the end of this term and we'll be rid of him."

"I wonder if he'll become a Conscientious Objector, too and do hard manual labor in Yorkshire?" Pole asked, looking after the white clad players. "I wonder if Adela Pennyfather will still be sweet on him if he does?"

"Him?" Scrubb asked, following her gaze. "I bet he'll enlist. RAF, too. A pair of shiny wings will look spiffing on that swelled up chest of his."

Pole snorted and looked at Scrubb again. She didn't like Scrubb…he was short and flabby and had pale hair and pale skin reminiscent of something that had been turned up by a spade. He needed sun, she decided. He had spent too much time lurking in the shade. But as much as she didn't like him, something had changed in the last ten minutes. Scrubb knew about the Rabbit. That meant something.

"I say, Scrubb?" Pole began, looking furtively at Spivvins as he goggled at a butterfly that had just landed in the sun and was slowly airing its wings. "We can't leave it to him, you know."

"What do you mean?" Scrubb asked, startled at the sudden lack of hostility in her voice.

"It's the Rabbit…and Spivvins…he can't just feed it vegetables for the rest of its life. I don't think that many vegetables are good for Rabbits."

"I would think Spivs would know," Scrubb, shoved his hands in his pockets. "He knows about everything, after all. I say, did you know that spiders' silk tensile strength is stronger than steel? He told me so this morning."

"Spivs has lots of imagination, but no practicality," Pole continued earnestly. "It's up to us to keep Them from Finding Out about the Rabbit…and the Head. I think something terrible would happen if she knew he was stealing vegetables from the garden. He doesn't know anything about subterfuge; he'll be caught."

If it had been peacetime, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered, but stealing food now-a-days was a criminal offense. It was the reason why the school ration books were locked up in the Head's desk. There just wasn't enough food to go around, which was why the Gang made the younger students give up their rations when the masters weren't looking.

"What _do_ you feed a Rabbit?" Scrubb asked.

"I don't know," Pole said. "But I think we ought to find out."

"Do you suppose there would be anything in the kitchen that would be at all fit for Rabbits?" Scrubb was beginning to feel adventurous.

"If there is, we daren't be caught looking."

~o*o~

The Experiment House resided in Devon, and the dull, grey-stone buildings reminded some of the more imaginative school inmates of Dartmoor Prison twenty miles away. There was nothing to hope for but Moor and more Moor. The only visitors to break the monotony were a small herd of shaggy ponies that moved in regular large loops that brought them by the school gates every month or so.

Nearly a third of the ghost-like pupils at the Experiment House were day-students, cycling in from nowhere for classes. The other two-thirds were from obscure parts of the Empire. The chief attraction of the Experiment House for most parents was its remoteness. Schools had been closing all over the south of England because of the Blitz and because of the influx of American troops being stationed in Kent and Sussex. Even if the Germans took it into their heads to invade, the Experiment House was the last place they would stop in for Tea…if they could even find it.

It meant that the Head could run the school just the way she liked and still expect a surplus of students. Her victims' parents were just glad that there _was_ a place to send their children that was out of the way. And the Head wasn't so awful…she was very kind in her way, always ready with a cup of tea if an offender was sent up to her study. It was her belief that children ought to be allowed to bring themselves up that was the trouble; she believed the natural forces among them would create stronger and wiser adults.

In the end, she created something reminiscent of Boston during Prohibition. The masters turned a Glassy Eye and the stronger, smarter students ruled the school while the smaller ones, those that could be paid off at any-rate, playing the part of their underlings. The rest, who were too small, too tired, or too principled to be of any use, managed by keeping their heads down and giving up part of their rations.

There had been a Time, remembered fondly by the Downtrodden, of a Student that had rallied the Huddled Masses and waged War on the Gang. It was a glorious, but undocumented, moment in the School's history. Those that remembered it whispered tales of battles in the girls' dormitory at midnight, of Alfred Carter getting doused with water when someone emptied a bathroom jug out of an upstairs window, of Adela Pennyfather screaming when someone dyed her favorite shirt blue.

It had ended, however, tragically. The Student (whose name could not be mentioned) was expelled partway through the term for Disrupting the Peace. It was said afterwards that he enlisted in the RAF underage and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for Valor in the Battle for Britain (being Shot Down came up in conversation), but this was heresy and nobody was quite certain if they believed it.

Scrubb and Pole had both come to the school the term after the Great Uprising and had not met the Student. Scrubb himself, had learnt to despise him, as he had despised everyone he was told to despise by Them; but this term, he was beginning to think seriously about the Student and the Great Uprising. There was something exhausting about Fear and now that Scrubb had officially changed sides, there was an ever-present Fear of being Dealt With by Them. Why should he fear Them, after all? What could they do?

Despite all his good intentions, he was forced to admit that there was a great deal They could do. They were stronger than he, after all. In this place, Brute Strength was the law, as was made manifest at supper that night.

The Dining Hall, in another life, had been a barn, and the smell of sheep sometimes crept out of the woodwork into the general atmosphere of cold chops congealing on plates, and overdone potatoes and greens. Scrubb, through no fault of his own, ended up seated opposite Alfred Carter and one of the Horrible Garret twins (D. Garret, to be exact; some speculated that the 'D' stood for 'devil'). Scrubb was just raising his fork when Alfred Carter leaned across the table, skewered his chop and receded again to his place like some giant chameleon with a sticky tongue.

"Here, I _say_!" Scrubb began with a hot flare of anger, then stopped when Carter fixed him with an Eye. It was an unspoken threat and Scrubb slumped; Carter, was eight inches taller and at least three stone heavier and had a fist on him like a steam-hammer. The Student (whose name could not be mentioned), who had started the Great Uprising, had been, by all reports, a tall and fit character. Scrubb wasn't…and promptly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He scoffed his potatoes before D. Garret formed designs on them, and fled.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Author's Note: I thought I'd better get this posted now since tomorrow I'll be playing Mozart and Clementi at an Old Folk's Home, the day after I'll be packing, and Saturday I'll be on an airplane, en route to visit my sister! Please pray for me (the flying part, not the visiting the sister part).

On another note...there are two stories on this site, one about Spivvins, and one about the Rabbit, which I thought I'd share with you. The first is _**The Rabbit**_ by 7Knight-Wolf, the second is **_Spivvins' Secret_ ** by King Caspian the Seafarer.

Thank you _so much_ for your reviews and your general all-around kindness and compassion.

~Psyche

PS: Did anyone else notice the weirdness with reviews over the past couple of days?


	3. The Odd Jobs Man Decides

The Odd Jobs Man Decides

* * *

 _And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience._

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

It was hunger that woke Scrubb that night…or it might have been the moonlight slanting through the window, because moonlight was an anomaly in Devon. The sun and the moon were such rare visitors to that part of the world that people would line the roads and cheer when they passed by. Generally, Dartmoor had a thunderous brow and looked overcast as if it were thinking about Something Else. At the Experiment House, it rained.

Scrubb promptly rolled away from the moonlight and attempted to go back to sleep. He shared the room with two other boys, one of them Spivvins, who snored.

"For heaven's sake, shut up, will you?" Scrubb whispered urgently. Spivvins snored on. Scrubb liked Spivvin's very well when he could observe him by the light of day, but at night, snoring into the silence and destroying an honest chap's rest was a bit thick. Scrubb was momentarily transformed into what-he-had-been-before-he-Changed as he considered what would be the most satisfying; emptying the bathroom jug into Spivvin's open mouth, or poking the offender's feet with a knitting needle purloined from the Matron.

And then, quite suddenly, Scrubb remembered the Rabbit.

After only a short encounter with the Other Place (and forgive me if I don't go into detail about the Place where he had gone on an Adventure with his cousins, as you would never believe me if I did), Scrubb's appreciation for Animals had changed in a dramatic manner. It was true that animals here were not _quite_ the same as animals There, but he still had a deep love for them and a wish to protect them all. In his mind, the Rabbit needed his help and pouring a bedroom jug full of water over Spivvins's head wasn't going to help anyone. Not even the snore.

And that was why a robed and slippered Scrubb was creeping down the back stairs a few minutes later. He had promised himself after the encounter with Pole that he would slip down to the kitchen to see if there _was_ anything that Rabbits can eat. Scrubb wasn't a farm boy; as far as he was concerned Rabbits lived off bread and jam. His stomach growled. He could use some bread and jam.

The collision occurred in the door of the Dining Hall and despite the moonlight, Scrubb hadn't seen it coming. With a stifled yell, he fell in a heap, jumbled up with someone who had Elbows…and a Chin…and _hang it all_ , Teeth!

"Of all the low down, rotten…!" Scrubb's hand stung. "Don't _bite!_ Get up and fight like a man, you coward!"

"Is that you Scrubb?" a frightened voice wavered out of the shadows.

"I'll _say_ it's me and that was _my_ hand! No thanks to you that it isn't bleeding!"

"I'm most awfully sorry," Pole sat up and at the sight of her drawn, frightened face, all of Scrubb's anger melted away like quicksilver.

"No, it's my fault, really," he said gruffly.

"I suppose we're both down here for the same reason?"

"The Rabbit?"

Pole nodded.

Scrubb thought for a moment, there in the moonlight, "Nothing for it, then," he said, "Shall we proceed together?"

Pole nodded again, her eyes wide. There thing they meant to do was so dastardly, so heinous she couldn't even imagine what would happen if the Head found out. Stealing food during Wartime, Skulking at Night and forming Plans against Them. It couldn't get any worse.

"What if we're caught?" she murmured, not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to know what Scrubb would do.

"No matter what, we can't breathe a word about Spivvins…even," he paused, "even if it comes to torture."

Pole shuddered. She still didn't trust Scrubb…but if he was willing to keep his word, even under torture, she at least had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The door to the larder wasn't locked, even though they half expected it to be. The knob squeaked with springs, the hinges protested softly in their rust, and a moment later, the door swung open, letting out a sheet of moonlight. Scrubb entered first; Pole was close behind him.

"Do you suppose a Rabbit would eat bread?" Pole whispered.

"I-"

But Scrubb never finished his sentence, because just at that moment, the unspeakable happened. A hand…far larger than Carter's…descended onto his shoulder; he struggled, would have bolted for the door…but the hand was too strong, and from Pole's small protesting noises beside him, she had been caught, too.

"What's all this, then?"

The voice that spoke was large, but not loud, and out of the corner of Scrubb's eye, he saw a large, monstrous shadow and a nose that might have been barrowed off the Neanderthal in his Natural History book. There was hope then. This wasn't one of the masters, or even the Head…this was the Odd Jobs Man.

The Odd Jobs Man was one of those characters that ought to be frightening, but isn't. He was about the same height as Big Ben and had shoulders broader than London Bridge, but he was so gentle and soft-spoken that nobody ever paid him much mind. He was about forty and walked with a limp…something to do with the Great War, Trenches and a German Potato Masher.

He'd seen war, and consequently, he wasn't entirely meek and mild-mannered; the Gang avoided him, because after grappling him once, they never tried again. Nobody ever breathed a word of What Had Happened, but there were rumors that one of the Garret twins had been held aloft before being dumped unceremoniously into the School Pond. The Head had not been amused…she had even considered sending the Odd Jobs Man away until she had discovered that there was no one else in the area to take the position.

Either way, there was hope, because, as Scrubb saw it, the Odd Jobs Man was on neither side, and might listen to reason.

"What's all this, then?" the Odd Jobs Man repeated, shaking the two children. No doubt, he thought he was being gentle, but they felt like decoys in the mouth of a Retriever.

Scrubb shot Pole a look. There was nothing for it, "We'll have to tell him."

"I should think so," the Odd Jobs Man stated.

Pole looked momentarily rebellious, then wilted. The Odd Jobs Man set them both down on packing crates full of potatoes like dolls at a tea party, and gave them a look. He wasn't like the Head, he was fair.

"I'll be Judge and Jury and Prosecution," he said slowly, drawing out his words. "You'll be the Defense. If the Jury finds you guilty, but the Judge rules the crime not worth punishing, that rabble upstairs need never know. Now then…tell it slowly."

Scrubb looked at Pole, and in the end, Pole told the story. She didn't name Spivvins…there was no need…she just called him one of the students. She told about the Rabbit in full, how it had been legally given to Spivvins and that they could prove it by asking the Man Next Door, and how she and Scrubb had come down to see if there was anything to feed it in the kitchens.

"Now, of course, we won't take anything," she said quickly.

"I should think not," the Odd Jobs Man said. "Now then, do the prisoners plead guilty, or not guilty of taking food from the pantry?"

"Not guilty," Pole and Scrubb said together.

The Odd Jobs Man reached a long arm over and prodded in the pockets of their dressing gowns, "Aye," he said. "In the face of insubstantial evidence, the Jury finds the prisoners not guilty."

"Can we go, then?" Scrubb asked eagerly.

"Nay," the Odd Jobs Man shook his head, "Bide here a while and tell me about this Rabbit. What did you mean to feed it?"

"Do Rabbits eat bread?" Pole burst out.

A slow smile spread across the face of the Odd Jobs Man and he chuckled. "Not a good, honest English rabbit, Miss."

"Actually, I think it might be Dutch…" Pole trailed off. "Spivs said so."

She froze, wishing she hadn't mentioned Spivvins. The least said, soonest mended.

"The Dutch are on the Right Side," Scrubb felt compelled to mention, and by the 'Right Side', he meant the right side of the War.

"A rabbit is a rabbit," the Odd Jobs Man said after a moment of contemplation. "I dare say they all eat the same." Slowly he stood, his joints cracking and creaking as he reached his full height. "Now then, you two nip back to bed; I'll take care of this."

"You won't tell?" Pole asked hesitantly.

"And why should I?" the Odd Jobs Man inquired. "If a boy wants to keep a Rabbit in this blighted, hopeless place, why should he not? There is nothing much else worth doing. But, I'll tell you this; I'll bicycle into town tomorrow and see if I can't get five pounds of Rabbit feed. Nobody will find it if we keep it in the gardening shed."

"Oh, I _say_ ," Scrubb exclaimed, then instantly lowered his voice. "You _are_ a sport! Pole and I can scrounge up the money, I'm sure. I've got a sovereign."

Pole looked at him in surprise, "Lucky beast."

The Odd Jobs Man laughed and shook his head. "You two go back upstairs, and be in bed. Sharpish."

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It's this time of year when all the leaves are off the trees and there's a scattering of snow, and the really beautiful winter sunsets haven't come yet, that I dislike winter the most. I recently read Surprised by Joy, and I was struck by C. S. Lewis' comment about the Idea of Autumn (which he never really explains…and perhaps doesn't need an explanation).

Strangely Autumn…and the foreknowledge of a long Winter, and finally of Spring…fills me with a longing that even the coming of Spring never fulfills (and somehow it doesn't need to). I think this is why Autumn is my favorite season, because it represents Giving Up Everything no matter what the Cost, in the certain Faith that Life is coming again.

We live through Winter because we must, and because if we had Spring all the time, we wouldn't know how beautiful it was...honestly, snowdrops are at their most lovely when they've just poked through a bit of melting ice to bloom.

~Psyche

PS: Sorry for the long wait _again_. I really didn't mean to leave it so long.


	4. Carter Finds Out

Carter Finds Out

* * *

 _"Well!' said Puddleglum, rubbing his hands. 'This is just what I needed. If these chaps don't teach me to take a serious view of life, I don't know what will."_

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

Two sounds changed Scrubb's perspective on life forever…the first was the industrious buzz of a motorbike blowing on the edge of the silent wind across the Moor, the second was Carter's annoying sing-song drifting through the laurels behind the gym.

Scrubb had gotten up extra early the morning After (and by After, of course, I mean after the meeting with the Odd Jobs Man), had gone down into the shadowed schoolyard, had walked through the silver and gold mist that was blowing in off the Moor, and had just seen the distant shape of the Odd Jobs Man, rather too large for his bicycle, cycling away industriously in the direction of the Town.

"He's keeping his word, anyhow," Scrubb said to Spivvins at breakfast a quarter of an hour later.

"It's rather decent of him, I'd say," Spivvins replied (Scrubb, of course, had Revealed All to Spivvins within minutes of waking up that morning. Spivvins was chuffed. Or so he said).

"I'll say," Scrubb replied enthusiastically. His cornflakes tasted rather less like paper this morning.

"Do you suppose," Spivvins asked slowly, "that the Odd Jobs Man has a name?"

"He must," Scrubb replied, without really thinking about it.

" _H. sapiens_ ," Spivvins murmured to himself.

Pole was on the other side of the dining hall with a group of girls, looking rather like she wished she could come over and talk to them. They weren't exactly _friends_ , Scrubb decided, but they were _friendly_. Pole hadn't said anything to him last night after they left the kitchen. The silence had been tight and awkward, and Scrubb knew that if it wasn't for Spivvins and the Rabbit, they would probably never speak to each other again. Pole was just too…wary.

Fifteen minutes on found Scrubb back in the schoolyard. It was Saturday, so the only thing he _had_ to do was cram for some exams on Monday. He didn't particularly _like_ cramming (who would?), so he dithered around the schoolyard, aimlessly kicking at pebbles until he heard the welcome creaking of a bicycle, and the Odd Jobs Man turned through the school gates with a five-pound burlap bag across his handlebars.

The Odd Jobs Man didn't look at Scrubb as he passed, but continued on around the corner of gym, in direction of the gardening shed. Scrubb took a deep breath, scanned the schoolyard to see if the horizon was clear, and followed as nonchalantly as he could. He had been listening to the buzz of a motorbike coming across the Moor, sometimes strengthening with the wind, sometimes shifting when the wind shifted. The cheerful and distant sound made everything seem even more lonely; someone, somewhere was doing something. It was not a cheering thought when the future held Cramming for Exams.

When Scrubb reached the gardening shed, the Odd Jobs Man was just untying the twine that held closed the neck of the burlap sack.

"Quality's not the same as before the War," the Odd Jobs Man commented, letting the pellets run through his fingers, "But it'll feed your Rabbit."

Without preamble, the Odd Jobs Man showed Scrubb exactly how much to feed the Rabbit each morning with a little wooden cup he'd had lying about the shed.

"Thanks _most_ awfully," Scrubb said. "You are a _perfect_ brick."

The Odd Jobs Man smiled, but declined any relationship to a brick. There was just one thing left, niggling at Scrubb's mind.

"How much was it, in the end?"

"Think nothing of it, youngling," the Odd Jobs Man replied. "Just feed your Rabbit."

Scrubb opened his mouth to respond to this generosity, but the Odd Jobs Man waved him away, and taking up a gardening rake, went out into the garden to dig up weeds from between the potato rows.

Scrubb, himself, washed out of the shed on a wave of perfect happiness; with a cup of Rabbit feed in one hand, he felt sure nothing further could possibly go wrong. It would be easy, now, to keep the Rabbit a secret, to keep both it and Spivvins safe from Them, and to avoid any accusations of stealing from the Head.

He allowed himself to think Cheering Thoughts as he walked into the laurels behind the gym, and pulled the wicker basket out from under the branches. The rabbit was warm and alive, and looked about eagerly at the sudden flash of sunlight. Scrubb had a sudden feeling of premonition as he looked down at it. The basket couldn't stay hidden forever under the laurels…they would have to come up with better accommodations for it.

It was about the time that he was happily pouring the Rabbit feed into a little dish that he heard Carter's voice coming through the laurels.

"He's gone in…let's finish the little bounder once and for all."

Scrubb recoiled in horror, looking both ways for a chance to escape…but Carter was already in the laurels – this close – and the Garret twins were closing in from the other direction like a matched pair of wolves. He was trapped. He was done.

"Aha!" Carter cried just as Scrubb was scrambling to his feet. "Caught you red handed! What have you got here?"

Carter's large hand seized Scrubb by the collar and pulled him up a little taller than he was. The Garret twins were already inspecting the wicker basket.

"Well I'll be jiggered," one of them said. "It's a rabbit!"

"Where did you steal it from, you little owl?" Scrubb was shaken violently until his teeth rattled and the laurels danced in and out of each other. He tried to twist out of his jacket, but the hand shifted to the collar of his shirt and held on.

It was about this moment that Scrubb made a decision that changed everything. He could have gone limp and begged for mercy (which was what They were expecting)…but amazingly, the idea made him so sick and angry, he couldn't stand it.

He was afraid…of course he was afraid, but then Scrubb remembered that it was _he_ who had broken Caspian's second best sword on the hide of a sea serpent, and that Carter had claim to nothing like it. Suddenly, Scrubb was Scrubb no more, he was Scrubb the Un-Dragoned; Scrubb, Companion to the King (two kings and a queen, actually); Scrubb, Friend to Reepicheep, and Scrubb, Beloved of Alsan…and when he remembered this last one, Scrubb became something that Carter, and the others, had never seen before, and it frightened them.

"Unhand me, you cowardly brigands!" Scrubb cried gallantly and in one desperate move, twisted out of Carter's grasp and ran. The Garret twins grabbed at him, but Scrubb was too many for them. He cut through the laurels like a flash of lightning, pelting faster than he had ever pelted in his life.

It was doubtful if Scrubb knew exactly where he was running to, or if he really believed he could escape Them. Running was an act of desperation…a final act of desperation; Scrubb might have been brave, but Carter's legs were longer. Scrubb was unceremoniously tackled as he reached the schoolyard, and flattened by Carter coming down on him. He remembered disjointedly wondering as he fell why there was a motorbike with a sidecar parked by the school entrance.

"All right; that's it," Carter said, angrily dragging Scrubb to his feet. "Now you're going to get it."

Scrubb, dangling helplessly from Carter's grasp, caught sight of Pole's white face and Spivvin's horrified, bulging eyes, and saw that they must have rushed outside because of the uproar.

"I shall never capitulate!" Scrubb shouted, partially to reassure them, and partially to brace up himself, and drawing back his fist, biffed Carter smartly on the nose. It wasn't much of a blow, but there was a generalized gasp of horror from the spectators (who were increasing by the minute).

Carter's response was to immediately biff Scrubb back, and seeing that his swing was considerably longer and his fist larger, thunder clapped in Scrubb's head and lighting danced in his eyes. He swung from Carter's other hand, dizzy and sick, and wishing to die.

And he might have, too, if a long shadow hadn't fallen across Carter and unceremoniously wrested Scrubb from his grasp.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young sir," The Odd Jobs Man pronounced sternly to Carter, as he placed Scubb upright on his feet, "Exercising your strength on those that are weaker than you."

Scrubb wasn't exactly certain what happened next, except that Carter lunged with a growl, and met the back of the Odd Jobs Man's hand with a sickening slap. At that moment, the Odd Jobs Man appeared like Zeus in righteous anger. All the spectators in the schoolyard knew that he had probably just lost his position.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I hope everyone had a Rather Wonderful Thanksgiving...even those of you who don't celebrate it. Personally, I've always been under the impression that the more Things Seem Wrong, the more there is to be Thankful For. Or perhaps in Times of Trouble we are only more aware of the things we once Took For Granted. It is universally known, for example, that the stars can only be seen at night, because the very darkness that we often fear sets them in sharp relief.

Don't be like me, and realize you are one of those people who only knows how to be thankful for something once it is taken away. That's a bittersweet thankfulness, and you'll often catch yourself wondering, "Why didn't I realize how wonderful it was while I had it?"

In the end, as warped and backwards a philosophy as it appears at first, we often should be _more_ thankful for the absence of things than we were for an abundance.

Alphonse Karr once said, "Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses."

~Psyche


	5. Scrubb Stands His Ground

Scrubb Stands His Ground

* * *

 _"I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia."_

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

Scrubb was summoned to the Head's office.

The news trickled down by way of the English Master, who, on hearing the commotion, came out to watch (he didn't make any effort to stop it, Pole reported afterwards, just stood there and watched).

Things fell apart after the Odd Jobs Man intervened. Carter started to say words that some of the younger students had never heard in their lives, and made a good imitation of a five-year-old who has just skinned his knee.

"I'll be disfigured for _life!"_ Carter shrieked, and Adela Pennyfather swooped in to comfort 'her darling', or so she said (Pole said afterwards that it made her _positively_ sick).

"I'm most awfully grateful," Scrubb said, looking up at the Odd Jobs Man, and trying to realign his nose at the same time. "But you shouldn't have done it."

"I don't much mind if I lose my place," the Odd Jobs Man said with a strange light in his eyes, "It was worth it, clipping that young monkey."

The English Master, now that the danger was past, swaggered over to where they stood, "Straight up to the Head, young man," he said. "And be quick about it. I'd advise you to think very carefully about what has passed on the way."

"She'll have something to say to _you_ later," The English Master added, with a haughty look up his nose at the Odd Jobs Man.

"I'll spare her the trouble," the Odd Jobs Man replied grimly. "I'm turning in my resignation."

"Oh, I say!" the English Master said in sudden horror, following the Odd Jobs Man as he strolled away - like a small terrier racing after a Great Dane. "Don't do that! I'm sure it hasn't come to that, _yet!"_

It occurred to Scrubb as he watched that it was very unlikely the Head would be able to find another odd jobs man who would be willing to work in a beastly hole like this.

"What are you going to _do?_ " Scrubb looked around to see Pole and Spivvins flanking him.

"Do?" Scrubb asked.

"It's the Head," Spivvins whispered with a Pale Face. "She makes you confess to things you didn't do and _believe_ it."

"Don't worry," Scrubb said generously. "I won't breathe a word about you. She'll never know you had anything to do with it."

"But you can't take all the blame yourself!" Spivvins gasped.

"Can't I?" Scrubb dabbed his nose again. He was feeling positively _reckless._

The Head's office was at the top of a staircase, and though that staircase was made up of the prerequisite sixteen steps just like its fellows, it seemed to be the longest stair in the entire school. Spivvins and Pole came with Scubb as far as the first step; after that he was on his own.

"Break a leg," Spivvins quavered, and Scrubb began the ascent.

The staircase was weirdly silent. Scrubb could hear his muffled heartbeat even louder than usual; he had a sudden strong urge to cut and run, but he overcame it and continued on. He didn't look back, not once, and remembered in the vaults of his mind how Lucy had gone up a set of stairs not long before, prepared to face something even more terrible than what lay before him.

It was just the Head, after all.

The Head.

Hesitatingly, he knocked on her door.

"Come in." The voice that summoned him was musical and sweet, and as Scrubb scuffled with the engraved brass doorknob, he marveled how, before last term, he had loved the owner of that voice devotedly.

At last the door gave to reveal a long room with bay windows at one end and long shadows laying side by side with cold, gray light on a wooden floor. There was a fire burning gently on the hearth, because it was never warm in Devon, and on the mantle stood a bone model of a frigate, made by prisoners of war at Dartmoor Prison during the Napoleonic Wars. Distractedly, Scrubb noticed that there was a young man in RAF blue sitting in an easy chair in the shadows by the bookcase, but he forgot him a moment later when he saw the Head, sitting at her desk, wrapped in the cloak of silver Moor light that fell from the windows.

"Sit down Eustace," she said in her gentle voice, and Scubb felt a little of his determination seep out of him. She was such a kind and gentle woman…it seemed terrible to stand against her.

"I'd rather stand," he said boldly, surprising himself, " _if_ you don't mind."

"I don't mind," the Head said with a musical laugh. "You're only punishing yourself. I'm here to _help_ you, you know. What's happened to you, Eustace?" she shook her head sadly. "You were such a nice boy last term, but lately you've become _such_ a disappointment. Do sit down Eustace."

"Do you not find Carter and his Gang torturing the rest of us a disappointment?" Scrubb asked hotly. "I've stopped taking orders from Them…and I'm _proud_ of it."

"You are causing dissonance with this individualistic behavior," the Head said, shaking her head in sorrow at his thick-headedness. With a feeling of horror, Scrubb realized that he had sat down, but couldn't remember doing it.

"The only hope we have for Peace in Our Time," the Head continued with feeling, "Is in the sacrifice of the individual. The average person does not have the right, or the wisdom to act for himself. Only by behaving as one Organism does mankind have Hope for Peace."

"That's not Peace," Scrubb said, feeling all his wherewithal drifting away at her firm, but gentle words. "That's Slavery. I'd rather die than become a faceless blob in a seething mass…I want my life to have purpose, I want to look ever Upward, and let my face be bathed by Light."

"My dear Eustace," the Head said sadly, "You have no identity. The only identity we can each hope to have is in the Collective. We are each here so briefly, no one will ever remember we existed. We came from Nothing and we go to Nothing…the only way we can give Meaning to Life, is by striving for the Common Good."

The Head smiled a knowing little smile, while Eustace fell unhappily back into his chair to contemplate this piece of philosophy. "Now, explain: what caused the turmoil in the schoolyard? Tell me everything."

Scrubb told…how could he avoid it? But he only told what Carter knew…which was very little.

"You've been keeping a Rabbit behind the Gym?" the Head asked incredulously.

"Carter accused me of stealing it," Scrubb replied. "But I didn't; you can just ask the Man Next Door. I don't see any harm in keeping a Rabbit."

"There is a great deal of harm in keeping a Rabbit…Rabbits were meant to run free and realize their own happiness. Keeping one closed up in a basket is inhuman and cruel," the Head shook her head. "I am most bitterly disappointed in your lack of respect for a Living Thing."

"If a Rabbit should be allowed to run free, and live its own life, why can't I be?" Scrubb burst out. "Why must I give up my identity and capitulate to the Will of the School Bullies?"

"My dear Eustace-" The Head began again.

"For _that_ matter," Eustace interrupted her (rather rudely, I must say), "If a person doesn't have the right to make his _own_ choices, who has the right to decide what the Common Good is? If Nothing is both before us, and behind us, how can anyone tell what Good is? It strikes me that there is no such thing as Good if Nothing is the ultimate goal. It's just maths: zero can't be positive or negative."

"Your cousins must be _terrible_ people," the Head replied; curiously, she aimed this remark somewhere over Scrubb's shoulder.

Scrubb smarted, "How are you going to punish me?"

"I'm not going to punish you! I'm only trying to help you understand," the Head cast her eyes heavenward at his stupidity. "Since you seem to have so little comprehension, I think a practical application is appropriate. I would very much like you to write a five-page composition on why you believe English nationalism is responsible for the present hostilities, and how her continued stubbornness and pugnacious spirit is destroying the World."

Scrubb closed his eyes. It would be so easy…he could give up there, he could nod along and agree with every word she said. She would smooth it over with Carter…who knows what would happen to Spivvin's Rabbit...it would probably be set free and eaten by a fox in the first five minutes. Already he could see the first line of the composition, "I believe that England is at fault…"

Scrubb started and looked up, "I won't do it."

From behind him, he heard a soft chuckle from the deep easy chair by the fire.

"I'm sorry?" the Head looked up at him with her pleasant blue eyes. "I didn't quite hear what you said."

"I'm not going to do it. _You_ can't make me."

The Head laughed, "You silly boy. I'm not going to _make_ you. You're going to do it yourself."

Scrubb shook his head, "I'm not going to do it. I won't do it for the same reason that I'm going to stand up and walk out of here this minute. You can't stop me. _You_ don't _believe_ in it."

Scrubb stood up. There was a barely audible, "Spot on!" from the easy chair.

"If you decide to expel me, I can have my things packed in two ticks. Thank you for your time," Scrubb said with uncustomary politeness before turning and striding out the door.

"Come back here this instant!" the Head called in sudden horror, and the young man who had been sitting in the easy chair bounded to his feet, made an odd sort of salute to the Head and caught the door with a polished shoe just before Eustace closed it.

"I'm not finished with _you_ either!" the Head shrieked, but the door was already closed, and as Scrubb had said, she wasn't going to come after them. She didn't believe in it.

"Jolly good," the young man in the RAF uniform said when they were safely in the hallway. "I almost didn't believe it was _you_ back there."

"I say, what _is_ all this?" Scrubb asked turning back towards him in complete puzzlement.

"Don't recognize me, do you?" there was that familiar smile, that trick of the brown hand running through the brown hair. "Ed and Lu told me to look out for you when I came. I haven't seen you for an age, not since that Christmas when you had too much pudding and were sick behind the rosebush in the back garden."

"I _say_ …look _here_ …why this is _simply_ …!" Scrubb ran out of words and instead wrung the other's hand as hard as he could. " _Peter!_ What _luck_ running into you! Why on earth are _you_ here?"

"I've come to collect Cuthbert Spivvins; familiar with the name?"

"I'll say I am! But what on earth do you want _him_ for?"

"His mum's my mum's best friend. I volunteered to come for him since I'm stationed so near," Peter said pleasantly. "I've finally convinced his Pater to honk him out of this beastly hole."

"What do _you_ know about this place?" Scrubb asked in awe.

"Oh, I was here a term…didn't last long, though…was expelled. The only person to be expelled in the history of the school, I believe."

"You were _here…?_ " Scrubb gurgled in shock. " _Why!?"_

"It was after we came back the Second Time…in fact we had been on our way here when we were…Called," Peter trailed off and looked at him keenly. " _You_ know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Scrubb nodded vigorously. He _knew._

"Mother was quite frantic after we came back the First Time, you see…we weren't acting ourselves…We had sort of grown up and become Different…I wanted to enlist. Edmund had been coming _here_ for about a year and Mother convinced Father to enroll me for my last year. They hadn't the faintest what it was really like. All they wanted was to tuck me away somewhere miles from an enlistment office. I was too hot to hold, I think."

"Gosh! _Edmund_ was here, too?" Scrubb gasped.

"He was always quicker than the rest of us; Mrs. Spivvins convinced Mother that regular schools would 'ruin' him. So, he was sent here; this is that horrid school where he began to go wrong, you see," Peter explained.

"But _why_ didn't he _tell_ me you used to come here?" Somehow it seemed to Scrubb that knowing Peter and Edmund had suffered (manfully) here would have made coming back a little less terrible.

"He didn't know it was the same place until you sent him the address of your school," Peter replied mildly. "And at that point, he couldn't run the risk of you being caught with a letter full of incriminating evidence. He didn't want Them to associate you with me," Peter paused, looking down at Scrubb quizzically. "A bit dangerous for you, don't you think?"

"A bit dangerous…? Hang _on_ …you weren't…" Scrubb stared at him with wide eyes. "You weren't He-whose-name-cannot-be-mentioned? The student who started the Great Uprising?"

"That's what it's called, is it?" Peter laughed cheerfully. "Mea culpa, I'm afraid."

Scrubb's head spun, trying to get his mind around it all, "Was Edmund expelled, too?"

"Oh no, he left with honor," Peter replied. "He was the Head's favorite; she thought he was absolutely A1 and never suspected him for a moment. On our way here on the train, we decided that _he_ would keep buttering Them up, so we would know who They were planning to Torture next, while _I_ had a go at inspiring the Downtrodden to stand up to the Gang. It almost worked…I thought if we made a big enough stink the school inspectors would shut the place down, but then the Head expelled me, which was probably the first assertive thing she'd ever done in her life."

"Oh, Gosh," Scrubb said with feeling, then continued, "We talk about you like King Arthur, here, you know-" his voice was husky, "Waiting for you to come back from Time to save us."

Peter bent down to look at him with a Compassionate Eye, "I wish I could…but there isn't a thing I could say to convince your parents. I've tried."

"I know," Scrubb said and that was all he really needed to say, as an overwhelming feeling of gratitude swept over him that Peter _had_ , even if his parents _wouldn't_. It made him half feel like bursting into tears. And he couldn't blubber…not in front of Peter.

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hopefully that was a _bit_ of a surprise. This entire story got its start when I wondered what would happen if Peter and Edmund were let loose in the Experiment House. No doubt like many of you, we've spent some time wondering if 'that horrid school' Edmund went to was The Experiment House.

If you squint at the timeframe of this story, it doesn't make much sense, unfortunately. It's pretty clear from _Voyage_ and _Silver Chair_ , that the opening of _Silver Chair_ is the autumn following _Voyage_ which occurred during the Summer Holidays. I of course, had to make a fantastic blunder and set this story ( _Spivvins_ ) in the Spring term instead of the Fall. Even the best of intentioned Alpine Swifts don't build nests in the fall.

So, I'll make my story fit the books by twisting it a bit and saying that Peter and Edmund briefly attended the Experiment House the autumn term _before_ VoDT, Eustace and Jill started attending the school the Spring Term _before_ VoDT, and this story doesn't take place until the Spring term following VoDT. The trouble is, none of this will work unless you can helpfully ignore the bit at the beginning of _Silver Chair_ when it says, "It was a dull autumn day and Jill Pole was crying behind the gym."

Oh well…maybe the Alpine Swifts are _very_ mixed up. I'm fearfully sorry about the blunder.

 **Further Author's Note:** On looking into it a little more deeply I've discovered that Alpine Swifts sometimes raise second clutches which fledge as late as October. So, in the complete impossibility of a pair of Alpine Swifts making it to southern England, it is conceivable for them to still be raising chicks at the beginning of September.

So, I made a few slight alterations, and for the time being, _Spivvins and the Rabbit_ takes place during the Autumn term following _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ and leads directly into _The Silver Chair._

I've always imaged that LWW took place in the Autumn of 1939, because that's when the first large-scale evacuation took place, however, it could also have occurred in Summer of 1940 (because of the threat of Operation Sea Lion) or Autumn of 1940, because that's when the bombs actually began to fall on London. All in all, it doesn't make a massive amount of sense, because the Pevensies were just going to be sent to boarding school, anyway.

So, for my timeframe, LWW takes place in September of 1939, _Prince Caspian_ takes place in Spring or autumn of 1940, _Voyage_ takes place in Summer of 1941 and _Silver Chair_ occurs in Autumn of 1941.

I apologize for this whole thing being fearfully long-winded and tiresome. Hope everybody had a happy Christmas and a happy Easter and a happy Everything In Between. One more chapter to go as a sort of tying up of strings.

~Psyche


	6. A Different Kind of Courage

A Different Kind of Courage

* * *

 _"You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you," said the Lion._

~ C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

* * *

Together, they went back down the sixteen steps. It was odd how going up those steps alone was so different from coming down them again with an RAF hero. Peter said nothing, only walked with his usual drive and determination, and Scrubb tried to match his stride. That took quite enough concentration.

They had nearly reached the front lobby of the school when Scrubb looked up to see Carter slithering along the furthest wall as if he thought he wouldn't be seen. Peter wasn't paying any attention to him, but Scrubb knew as he looked back up at his cousin that Peter knew full well Carter was there.

"Hullo Pev," Carter said hesitantly, when it became clear that slithering any further along the wall would make him look ridiculous. "Nice weather we're having."

Peter Pevensie turned to bestow a Cold Eye on Carter, and in that moment something invisible, but hard as steel passed between them. The quick young man in the RAF blue had held on by his fingernails during the Battle for Britain, had been shot down and rescued from the Channel, had flown countless sorties in France to strafe ground targets, had stood at Attention while King George pinned the Distinguished Flying Cross on his uniform. _H_ _e_ was things Carter would never Understand. And Carter knew it.

"Carter," Peter said easily, and passed him by.

A moment later, they were in the schoolyard, and Spivvins was goggling frantically at them. Pole had begun to follow him, but on seeing Peter, had fallen back again to a bit of pavement where some of the other girls were flocked around a familiar wicker basket. The Garret twins had apparently wrested the Rabbit, basket and all from, its hiding place. Pole knelt down next to it again and pretended not to be watching them.

"Oh, I _say_ , Peter!" Spivvins cried. "What are you doing _here_?"

"I've come for you, actually," Peter explained, and the whole story came out, mostly told by Scrubb, with Peter adding a word or two here and there. None of it really seemed to interest Spivvins.

"Does that mean I get to ride in the sidecar?" he asked breathlessly, gesturing to where the motorbike was still parked, the sidecar beside it.

"Unless you want to run along behind," Peter replied with a chuckle.

"You'll have to bring the Rabbit," Scrubb said. "Will there be room?

"Plenty," Peter replied, plowing his way slowly through the crowd around the Rabbit's basket. Girls fell back on either side of him like the Red Sea, and Scrubb and Spivvins pursued him like Pharaoh.

"A Rabbit, is it?" Peter Pevensie descended to have a look. "Furry little thing, isn't he?" he checked himself. "Is it a he, or a she?'

"A he," Spivvens replied seriously.

"Eh?" Peter said. "I'll take your word for it. What's its name?"

"Oryctolagus," Spivvens replied, taking off his spectacles to polish them.

"Curious name," Peter said, only half interested, "Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

In a burst of pleased surprise, it became suddenly apparent to Scrubb that Flight Lieutenant Pevensie had probably forgotten (or never paid much attention to) his Natural History textbook. His magnificent older cousin wasn't perfect after all. Scrubb felt a flash of hope for his own sad state.

"Well," Peter continued, lifting up the wicker basket, "Let's get old Gussie into the sidecar. If you're going to make him keep his scientific name, you might as well shorten it to something that isn't longer than he is."

Scrubb slumped again…Peter _had_ paid attention to his Natural History textbook after all. His older cousin returned to perfection.

In the brief span of time it took Spivvins to rush off and pack his few belongings into his small suitcase, Scrubb suddenly found he had nothing to say to Peter. He realized with a dull sick feeling that he barely knew Peter…and most of what he did know about him was in the form of legends he had heard in the Other Place. Legends of a king so noble, so humble, and so merciful, he had been made High King off all the other kings. It certainly wasn't a good conversation starter.

On top of all that, Scrubb's one friend, his one good friend, was about to leave. Spivvins was the only boy in the whole school that Scrubb really liked, and the idea of him not being there to talk about Natural History and Alpine Swifts and Spider's Silk suddenly shot Scrubb through with fear. His misery must have shown on his face, because Peter kept glancing down at him with a Compassionate Eye.

It was a relief when the Odd Jobs Man appeared across the schoolyard, carrying the burlap sack of Rabbit feed. Peter, who obviously knew him well, went straight over to meet him. They shook hands warmly, and the Odd Jobs Man gave him the sack.

"I've heard you're taking the boy away," the Odd Jobs Man said. "I'm glad. This is no fit place for him, or his Rabbit."

"It's not a fit place for anyone," Peter replied.

"I'll say not," A voice said quietly, and Scrubb found that Pole had finally overcome her distrust and come to stand beside him.

"That's my cousin," he explained.

Pole nodded, "You look a little like him," then she qualified, "but only a little."

Scrubb still considered it a compliment, even if she hadn't meant it as one.

Spivvins came out of the school shortly after and Pole walked over to say good-bye to him. Peter shook the Odd Jobs Man's hand one more time, then turned to follow her. Scubb trotted a little to keep up with him, and in a sudden rush of courage, reached out to catch Peter by the sleeve. His older cousin swung around to look at him, such a look of compassion and sorrow on his face that Scrubb half thought Peter already knew what he was going to say.

"Once you take him away, I'll be all alone," Scrubb expected the words to come out haltingly, but they didn't; they were clear, concise and desperate.

"You are _not_ alone," Peter replied, bending down a little to Look Scrubb in the Eye, "The very darkest, loneliest, most hopeless times are the times when _He_ is nearest." They both knew exactly who Peter was referring to. "You've been un-dragoned…that's something that can _never_ be taken away from you."

"But…" Scrubb trailed, not even certain what he was trying to say. "Do you really think anything glorious can ever happen again?"

"You've only got through the first chapter, Eustace," Peter smiled a little as he looked down at him. "There's a whole book yet to come. You can't expect everything to happen all at once every time. There are times in between, too, and you've got to learn to find the glory in them. There's glory in a job well done, in doing the right thing, even when no one is looking. None of these things _seem_ glorious, but they are…every bit as glorious as fighting a Sea Serpent."

He had heard about _that_ apparently.

There was a little flicker of grief in Peter's face as he continued, "You're going to spend the rest of your life filled with a longing so raw and insatiable, it will almost be unbearable. It will be agony…but worth it. I wouldn't trade anything for that pain."

Scrubb looked up with mingled hope and despair, "Do you think…I might somehow get… _there_ …again?"

Peter considered for a moment, looking down at Scrubb with an Assessing Eye, "It may happen…or it may not; there's no telling." He paused, "But Eustace, _wanting_ to go back should never be your first goal; but _hoping_ to go back…you can always hope, and indeed, you _should_ always hope."

"It's the waiting," Scrubb said miserably.

Peter laughed, and thumped him, "Waiting always requires a different kind of courage."

Scrubb nodded and looked down, and Peter laughed again and put a hand on his shoulder to shake a little life into him. Then he grew serious, "Look here Eustace…I'm going to the Med in a short time. About a week, I think. It was _good_ to see you."

Peter meant the Mediterranean, of course, where the very hottest fighting of the War was taking place. Scrubb looked up again with a feeling of shame at his own cowardice, and took the hand Peter offered him; they shook firmly, then Peter was climbing on his motorbike. Spivvins waved excitedly from the sidecar, the Rabbit twitched its ears, and a few moments longer and the bike was a spec in the distance. Scrubb was left behind again, the last page of the chapter turned…a whole book left to come.

Pole said nothing to him, she only walked away, her hands deep in her pockets. Scrubb looked after her, feeling even more lonely. At least, Scrubb thought resignedly, he could still try to catch the plague.

* * *

Finis

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In an effort to prove that I still do finish stories, here is the final chapter. Or a mad fan's tribute to _The Silver Chair_ if you like. You may wonder why Jill sort of Fades in this chapter…why she doesn't have more to do with the story after the incident in the Night with the Odd Jobs Man, but I was trying to make it lead into _The Silver Chair_ , and Eustace and Jill are definitely _not_ friends at the beginning of that book.

I have some other stories that I've been half-heartedly working on; I can't tell when they'll be done, but I know you'll hear more from me some day. You must, because no matter how many adventures I have and places I go, I love Narnia and always will.

On another note, I've been scrolling through my Facebook feed and have been struck by how often I encounter the terms 'empowerment' and 'finding yourself' and 'living to your full potential'. Even Christians hop on the bandwagon and say that God empowered them and helped them find themselves.

Personally, I find this a bit confusing. The last person I would like to find in life is myself. Encountering me on an afternoon walk would be an underwhelming and anticlimactic experience. Even me at my very best is an average human with average intelligence and abilities. I don't have that much to offer…certainly no more than the next person who comes along.

We live in a world with seven billion other people. Life has become a constant struggle to make ourselves known, to make ourselves loved, to not be forgotten. We strive for immortality through the memory of our decedents. Everything else must step aside in our daily adventure to 'find ourselves'…but even our best efforts result in only mild popularity. Even the most famous people who have ever lived are only remembered as a few faded words on a dusty page.

Christianity ends up being a rather backwards pursuit. Giving up everything results in gaining everything; deep sorrow ends in joy; true humility produces greatness. In this instance; finally understanding that each of us aren't much to write home about, drives us to look for Someone who is. I don't want to find myself…what a waste of precious time. I want to find God.

God bless and keep you all,

~ (Rose and) Psyche


End file.
